Project UNITI
by Fensta
Summary: An Ongoing Rewrite of my Original fic: UNITI. Set post Scorpia. Under MI6 protection, Alex Rider has been left to live his own life. Now they need him back. But at age 18, will it be like riding a bike, or will Alex Rider's wheels fall off at the start?
1. Four Years Later

_Well, I've threatened to do it for a while now, and here it is. The re-write of my original and most successful fic: "Alex Rider: UNITI"._

_For those of you that haven't heard of it, have no fear, this fic is designed to be bigger and better than the original fic. Sure, the original is further along in the story, but I'd suggest you don't try to skip ahead by reading it, because I personally think that it's very poorly written. Hence me writing this. And I believe that I may change things. In fact, I'm sure I will change things..._

_For the old hands, the people who've read the original fic, I'd love for you to read this and report back. I will be adding additional content, fattening out the fic in places to make it a little more dramatic (and more believable), so I hope that it shouldn't read to you like something you've already read. More like an old friend who's changed since you last saw them, meaning you need to get to know them again. In any case, I hope you enjoy it this second time around._

_There will also be an "Author's Notes" section at the end of each chapter, summing up my thoughts on the chapter, including an insight into what I felt needed changing, or including in this revised story. This won't be for review responses like in the original fic, instead, I'll be doing that on a personal one-to-one basis (email/sign-in permitting). I'm always happy to accept opinions and complaints about my writing, so please review and tell me what you feel._

_All that said, I feel I should let you get on with reading now. This first chapter has been practically re-written, and is a conglomeration of the first two chapters from the original fic. _

* * *

_**Alex Rider:  
**__**Project UNITI**_

_**Thursday, 25th November, 0624  
**__**Willemstad, Curaçao,  
**__**Netherlands Antilles**_

The building looked like any other in the town. A brightly coloured wall, typical Dutch tiled roofing, a little rough and ready, but only because of time. The front door was solid oak, probably resurrected from the body of an old wreak; there were enough of them around here over the years. It wasn't well lit, the closest street lamp being some three blocks over, but a pale moon and a cloudless sky bathed the building and indeed the street in an ethereal light, the effect magnified by the stillness of air.

A man appeared at the front door to this house. He was short and round in stature, but well built. His 'wife beater' vest was tight around his torso, not covering all of his belly as the material didn't seem to quite want to meet the cargo trousers that covered the man's lower half. He paused in the doorway, looking about before stepping confidently into the apparently deserted street, oblivious to the 17 year old in the unlit alleyway opposite, hiding in the shadow of a building.

The kid watched as the man made his way all the down the street, not daring to breathe until the man had turned the corner, and even then, breathing came in short, shallow, quiet bursts. Checking the GPS navigator again, the kid watched as the man started to navigate the streets beyond the corner. Satisfied that he wasn't coming back any time soon, the kid moved across the road stealthily, making no noise in the early morning air. Within seconds they'd punched in the stolen security code, passed through the security door, and made it into the main hallway. The cool air felt good to breath in, but the kid had a job to do, and no time to relish the luxury, even after spending hours in the hot, sticky Caribbean air. The kid looked back at the door as it hissed shut, the airtight seal making a sharp whine as it pressurised, but paid it no attention as they started to search the surrounding wall panels, after all, there had to be a button or something to open the door again. It only took a matter of seconds to find a large red button, hidden rather badly behind a vase of bland flowers.

Happy that there was, at least, an escape route now, the kid checked the map on the Palmtop, switching it from the GPS mode to view stolen schematics of the building, the kid shifted the weight of a rucksack before moving up the stairs. Hours of surveillance had not only given the kid many of the access codes, but the knowledge that every time the man entered the property, his first point of call was a large room on the second floor. It was the perfect place to start the search.

As the kid reached the top of the stairs, they checked their GPS and found, with a slight jolt, that the dot, the man, was coming back, and he was already in the hallway below. Panicking slightly, the kid ducked under a reception desk to the side of the room. It was the only cover the room provided, but as far as the kid knew, no receptionist had ever sat behind the overly-large desk. Over the past few days, the kid had noted nearly every single person who had entered and exited the building, and no pretty blond airhead had ventured anywhere near the place. It wasn't long till the man ran past, his heavy footedness exaggerated by the loose fitting sandals on his feet, slapping noisily with every step. The footsteps paused for a second to open what sounded like a rather heavy door, before disappearing entirely as the man entered the room beyond. The kid, watched their GPS with bated breath as the dot stopped moving. Cautiously, they popped their head over the top of the desk, and to their astonishment, found the heavy door standing slightly ajar. Cautiously, they stepped from behind the desk, creeping up to the open door as silently as possible.

The room beyond seemed smaller than the blueprints had made out, but much grander. It was as if it had been restored back to the state that it would have been in when the original Dutch Governor would have sat in it. The bare plastered walls were whitewashed, but cluttered with all manner of ancient and expensive artifices. It was an office for a person in power, designed to intimidate and impose that power on anyone who might dare enter. Right now, that man was the one the kid had been tracking for the past few days.

"You've got some explaining to do!" an English accent said angrily. The kid couldn't see the man, but knew what he looked like, they'd seen the guy using the front door often enough. He was large, towering over the smaller man, who was obviously in his service, and exceptionally well built – like some sort of professional boxer. From the bench-press in the corner of the room, it was obvious what the guy spent most his time doing. He was white-haired, leading the kid to believe he was probably in his late 40s or early 50s, and it contrasted starkly with his deeply tanned skin, a result of spending an inordinate amount of time in the sun. His accent, very 'proper' English, was probably a result of a military career amongst the upper ranks, which was topped off with the very pompous (and very white) handlebar moustache that adorned the man's upper lip.

"But Señor! I have done nothing!" the smaller man was out of breath, a result of running up that many stairs, and his English broken, but his voice was definitely identifiable as being from the same man as earlier.

"Then why..." growled the Englishman, "...is there a child listening to us through the door to this office?" the Englishman said something else after, but the kid wasn't listening, they had already started running back across the hallway and down the stairs. Before long however, there came the sound of heavy slapping as the smaller man started running after them.

The kid reached the bottom of the stairs even before the man managed to get halfway, and went straight for the security door, pressing the opening switch with a slap of the wrist and accidentally sending the rather nasty vase of flowers crashing to the floor. They didn't stop to pick it up though, as they were already halfway across the still-darkened street as it hit the round.

The Spaniard wasn't far behind however, crunching a piece of the shattered china under his sandal as he ran through the open security door. He quickly perused the intruder, following them into the extremely dark alleyway opposite. He almost lost sight of the kid amongst the shadows, the kid's dark clothes blending into the pitch black of the night, but the Spaniard knew he was faster, and as long as he could keep sight of the kid, it was only a matter of time before he'd catch up with the little bastard.

The child, for their part, was doing a good job of slowing the man down. Rubbish bags, boxes and even wayward bikes all found their way into the middle of the Spaniard's path. However, the kid went one obstacle too many, tripping themselves up on some sort of rotten fruit as they pushed yet another bag of miscellaneous rubbish into the street. The man was upon the kid within seconds, pressing a large arm over the kid's neck in an effort to restrain the youngster.

It wasn't over there however, the kid put up a hell of a fight. A bony fist managed to smash it's way into the man's left eye, and a knee came up between his legs. Pain flitted through the man's body, and he tumbled to the floor, only just managing to reach out and grab the kid's left leg as they tried to flee. With a sharp yank, the kid went tumbling, their head connecting with the concrete with a sickening crack. They didn't get back up.

The Spaniard groaned, rolling over and staring up at the stars as he got his breath back. Eventually, he managed to sit upright, getting his mobile out from his pocket, and pressed the third speed-dial button.

"I got the kid, boss." he panted, getting up and staggering over to the body, "What d'you want me to do with 'im?" he threw a furtive look around him, sighing slightly with relief not to find anybody about: explaining this to the police might have been a little awkward. Meanwhile, his boss was shouting back down the phone at him.

"First, check the face, d'you recognise the face?" why was the boss always in such a hurry? He reached down, rolling the kid over and taking off the black balaclava. He started, blinking a few times at the face that was revealed beneath the cloth.

"Boss, it's a girl…"

* * *

_**Saturday, 27th November, 1416**__**  
Bristol, United Kingdom**_

"What d'you think? An attempt at goal, or kick to touch." A bitterly cold wind blew across the field of play, ruffling Alex's hair as he stared tiredly down the field at the goalposts. It was early evening, and the sky was ablaze with the setting sun, making Alex squint as he looked headlong into the sunset.

"We're four points down with a minute left on the clock," he said, sighing as he was handed the ball by the referee, "we don't have much choice."

Alex held the ball out to his front; kicking it easily into touch as close to the opponent's try line as he could. He turned around, walking backwards towards the touchline to address the team.

"COME ON BOYS! WE CAN DO THIS!" he shouted, to which a few of them gave growled cheers in response. It was the crowd, however, that was making the majority of the noise.

It was the last game of the term, only a few days before they broke up for their Christmas holidays and a well earned rest from school. It had been snowing that morning, and although most the snow had melted, the ground was still frozen hard as hell. They were lucky there were any supporters at all today, but today's match was no ordinary match. No, today they played their bitter rivals – the local Grammar School.

The history of the two sides was epic, going back to their first ever game where, according to popular myth, the match had been abandoned after the two captains were knocked out during a scuffle over an alleged 'high tackle'. Since that day, the rivalry between the two schools had spilled over to all other aspects of the sporting life, indeed, all other aspects of inter-school contest, be it the schools' orchestras, the debating teams, or even who's Sanatorium provided the better healthcare.

This rivalry was the reason why so many of Alex's schoolmates had turned out to see this match despite the desperate cold of the British wind. It was probably due to this cold, however, that they were making so much noise – it was the only way to keep warm.

Back on the field, the lineout was being taken; thrown long to the blind-side flanker, who immediately passed it down the line to the backs.

The ball switched hands quickly, finding itself on the other touchline within a few seconds, in the possession of the winger – Reynolds. He was a skinny lad to look at, but lightning quick in a straight line, and he was trying to use this to his advantage as he flew down the wing, the ball tucked neatly under his left arm.

He was eventually stopped in his tracks by a burly young forward, three times the size of Reynolds, but with the surprising pace to catch the boy. Within moments of the tackle however, the attacking forwards had rucked over the ball, pushing the opposing player right off Reynolds, who appeared relatively unscathed.

The ball was distributed back towards the centre of field, but a rush defence stopped the ball dead, and would have turned the ball over too, but for a herculean effort from the lone forward in the area at the time. The ball was recycled once more, but the defence was again upon the backs before they could do anything with it.

Alex nervously glanced at the ref as the man looked down at his watch. He felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach as the ref looked over to his touch-judge, a furtive nod passing between the two.

In the game of Rugby, the final whistle doesn't come immediately at the end of time. Instead, it comes at the first instance after time has passed that the ball goes 'dead'. Simply put, time can run out, but the game will not end until the ball either goes out of play, or the game has to be formally restarted – like when a try is scored.

And time was up.

A call from Alex's right brought his attention back to the game, and to the ball that was flying at him from the same direction. He caught it deftly, dodging a lone tackle at the same time from a boy rushed out of the defensive line at him. Glancing around, he noticed one of his backs, the blind-side flanker Anderson, charging up from behind him. Without thinking, Alex held the ball out in front of himself, swiftly chipping it over the charging defensive line.

The 'rush defence' is possibly one of the most effective and efficient defences in the world of rugby. Instead of waiting for the offence to run into you're defensive line, you charge the entire line forward every time the offence try to recycle the ball, and when done properly, can turn any team's attack into a retreat back down the field. There is, however, one major flaw to this kind of defence – an aerial attack.

Alex grinned as Anderson flew past him, charging straight through the defensive line as the poor defenders tried to stall their momentum and turn to get back where the ball was about to land. The rules of the game meant they couldn't touch Anderson, as long as he didn't have the ball anyway, so he slipped through without so much as a pulled shirt, the ball dropping into his arms a few meters beyond the flailing defensive line.

The boy began running hell-for-leather, easily pulling away from the defenders. He had the chance to win the game in his hands, but there was still one obstacle to overcome: the fullback.

Wesley Holts was that fullback A short, stocky boy with arms the size of tree trunks, and legs to match. He was the type of person that spent half the day in the gym, and the other half eating to keep his carb level up – a tackling machine. If he caught hold of you, there was no chance that you weren't going down.

Anderson knew this, and started to move to avoid the rather large lad, but Holts had the advantage, and within seconds the two had clashed, the force of the tackle enough to send the ball flying backwards from Anderson's arms.

Time seemed to slow down for the players on the field. They all knew time was up. This was _the _last play of the game. If that ball went out of play, or the opposing team got hold of it, this game would be over.

Out of nowhere, Alex appeared, catching the ball in mid-flight and easily dodging around the crumple of bodily parts that was Anderson and Holts. With the fullback out of commission, it was an easy run, and Alex firmly put the ball down between the posts.

The crowd, who had been holding their breath up until the point where Alex had caught the ball, burst into rapturous applause. There were no grandstands on the school field, but it didn't stop the ground shaking with the stomping of half the school. They were so loud in fact, that the referee's whistle to confirm the try wasn't heard by anyone.

It made the score 22-20 to the home side, and the conversion that Alex kicked with ease took it up to 24-20.

The end of the match was total pandemonium, the crowd invading the field the second that the ref blew for full-time. Girls were screaming, guys were shouting, and the teaching staff were panicking slightly at the sight of this mob. Alex had to dodge a number of overenthusiastic classmates as they tried to tackle him to the ground, but eventually they calmed down enough just to clap him on the shoulder.

"Nice one, Dan!" shouted one of Alex's friends, despite being right next to him, "That was your best Try yet!"

Alex laughed and shrugged, "Ahh, I don't know about that. Jimmy did most the hard work."

"You're kidding, right?" came the rather high-pitched voice of James Anderson, "I've never seen a chip and charge quite like that."

Alex scratched the back of his head, slightly embarrassed by the praise, but pleased none-the-less. It had been years since he'd had a circle of friends quite like this, a far cry from his first introduction to the new school.

It had been four years since MI6 had dumped him here. Well, perhaps 'dumped' was the wrong term, but it had certainly felt that way at the time. It had followed his last mission for the British government, infiltrating a criminal organisation called 'Scorpia', where he'd been fatally wounded by a sniper's bullet. Fatal that is, for anyone who wasn't one of the agency's top spies. Despite the fact that he'd only really been a spy for a few months, Blunt, the head of MI6, had deemed him worthy of saving. No doubt just so he could be used again, like some tool.

The details that Alex knew were little and far-between. MI6 operated under the 'ignorance is bliss' policy, otherwise known as 'need to know', and apparently Alex didn't need to know.

After all, it was only his life...

His life – now there was an interesting story in itself.

Alex's parents had been killed when he was still an infant, and he'd moved to live with his uncle, who he hardly saw anyway. For this reason, he was practically raised by his uncle's housekeeper, Jack Starbright, a real spunky American woman with a soft spot for Alex.

However, the real story of Alex's life started 4 Years ago, when Alex's uncle, Ian Rider, had been killed in 'mysterious' circumstances. Within weeks, Alex was called into the MI6 headquarters, a grey, ordinary looking office block in the middle of London, where they had managed to manipulate him into carrying out a series of missions, each one more dangerous than the last. Every time he finished one, he'd vow to never do it again, only to find himself on another. Alan Blunt, the head of 'covert operations' at MI6, didn't seem to see anything wrong with what he was going, despite the obvious and real danger. Alex's luck soon ran out, and within months of his first mission, he received the Scorpia mission, his last for the service.

The Scorpia mission was possibly one of the most dangerous missions that MI6 had ever dispatched an agent for. Alex's father died whilst on the exact same mission, but yet, or perhaps 'because' of this, Alex was sent in.

The mission was on the rocks from the start, as Alex swayed with his loyalties, eventually attempting to complete a mission for Scorpia: taking out Alan Blunt's right hand woman – Mrs Jones. Luckily, he failed in his mission, and MI6 managed to 'turn' him back to their side. He hardly had time to recover, before they sent him back into the fray.

This time Alex managed to stop the plans of Julia Rothman, the Scorpia boss dying in attempting to carry out her plan to kill every school child in London.

Natually, the other Scorpia bosses blamed him personally for this loss, and had one of their operatives attempt to take him out. Except, the sniper's bullet didn't do its job. The aim was true enough, but MI6 had other ideas. Within minutes of Alex loosing consciousness, government agents, disguised as paramedics, picked Alex up and transported him to a special MI6 ward where they managed to keep him alive.

After two months Alex was breathing independently, and after six he was conscious. Blunt was all for getting him back into the field, but Mrs. Jones put her foot down, and managed to get him into a relocation program. He was moved, with his guardian Jack Starbright, to Bristol, where he was placed into a private school under the name 'Daniel Hunter'. Jack was given the name 'Lisa Garret'.

His first year there wasn't a good one. Still mentally scarred from the past year, he was diagnosed as clinically depressed, and after a number of incidents where he simply broke down, he was put on a course of medication and therapy. Somehow, the school kids found out, and due to the cruel nature of playground gossip, he was ridiculed and teased. He was a regular target for bullies, not having the will to fight back, or not seeing the point. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, one of Alex's attackers pushed it too far, and Alex defended himself. He almost killed the boy, and although this had the effect of stopping all future bullying, it raised some serious issues.

The therapists couldn't figure out what was wrong with the boy. As far as they knew, he'd had a relatively 'normal' life, for an orphan anyway, and in any case, there were no indications that it hadn't been a happy childhood. Of course, these therapists didn't have the security clearance to access Alex's military records, and in the same light, Alex couldn't tell them about all the horrors he'd seen. They had to conclude that Alex was simply unable to control his emotions, and due to the fact that they didn't really know what was going on with him, they decided not to pump him full of drugs, but simply keep an eye on him through more counselling.

If they were honest, the therapists hadn't expected this to actually do anything much, but something happened that none of them could have suspected. He met a girl: a one Madeline Ross.

He'd met her in the waiting room of his usual counsellors, and taken an immediate liking to her. Out of all the miserable people in the sterile little room, she was the only one who ever seemed to smile, or talk. Within weeks, they were talking regularly at school, and by the end of the month they'd started seeing each other more formally.

It had been hot gossip within the school. Maddie was in the 'trendy' circles at school, and one of the more popular girls amongst the student body as a whole, and to see her dating someone like Daniel – a dangerous loner with a temper as black as his conversational skills... Let's just say it made heads turn.

The romantic side of the relationship lasted about a year and a half, the two growing apart over time, but they still maintained a high degree of friendship, and by the time they broke up, Alex was accepted as one of the crowd. Anyone who disagreed would still have to stand up to Maddie, let alone Alex and his 'freaky' combat skills. It was mainly due to her that Alex was still alive, and he knew it. He valued her friendship above all others, knowing the way she treated him in those early talking sessions had allowed him to trust people again. He'd never forget her for as along as he lived, which, now he wasn't an MI6 operative any more, seemed a lot brighter and longer.

The great mass of players and crowd eventually made it off the pitch, and back towards the two green painted sheds that pretended to be changing rooms. The school might have a lot of money, but apparently changing rooms weren't top priority.

The team broke away from the crowd, and strode forward towards where the opposition were now quietly entering their own changing room. Alex's face split into a sly grin as he spotted a familiar female figure as she checked out one of the boys' arses. She didn't notice as Alex's team entered their own shed, so Alex quietly excused himself and set about sneaking up on the snooping girl as she looked in one of the opposition's shed windows.

"And I always thought you were a nice _sweet_ girl." Alex said suddenly, poking Maddie in the ribs. The girl squealed, spinning around and knocking Alex's hand away.

"Daniel!" she exclaimed on seeing him. She always called him by his whole name, Alex had never figured out why, but it was nice either way. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?!"

Alex laughed, "I believe you said something about boiling my liver... perhaps I did it 'cos I'd like to see you try."

Maddie narrowed her pretty blue eyes dangerously, "You know me well enough to know that I might well try." When Alex simply smiled back at her, she dropped her sudo-serious look, a broad grin creeping across her face.

"You were great today." she said, enveloping Alex in a tight hug. Alex was caught totally off guard when she then punched him in the stomach, "but you don't half leave it till the last minute!"

Alex laughed as he clutched his midriff, "Yeh, well it all adds to the effect!"

Maddie scoffed, "Glad to see that your image is more important to you than the school's sporting reputation." She was about to continue on this line of thought, but as the home side's hut erupted in a muffled cheer, distracting her.

"You should get back to them," she said softly, "are we still on for later?"

Alex smiled. It was a tradition, from back when they were an item, to go have coffee in one of the local coffee shops after a match. It was always the same shop too, a small private café in the middle of the busy Clifton shopping area. They'd been there so often over the years that the owner, an elderly lady by the name of Moreen, knew them by sight, and often stayed open late for them in the summer months when sitting outside in the dark was pleasant.

"Of course, it just wouldn't be cricket without our post-match chat." Alex replied, making Maddie giggle.

"An interesting observation," she said, her pixie-like smile making another appearance, "considering you were playing _rugby_. Now run along, I've got some spying to do."

Alex snorted, chuckling to himself as he walked back to his changing room. If only she knew what real spying was like, she wouldn't be so eager to make jokes about it. Alex looked back at her one last time before entering the hut, to find the girl up on tip-toes, looking in on the probably half-dressed opposition side. He suppressed the urge to shout '_Peeping Tom_' at her, realising that it would probably do no good anyway, and settled for entering into the dressing room with a disbelieving shake of the head.

The sun had totally set by the time Alex was washed and setting for the short walk to the coffee shop. Maddie would probably be there already, she usually got bored with 'spying' within a few minutes. She didn't have the nerve to approach any of them anyway. Even when they spotted her and one of them came out to chat her up, she usually ran a mile, laughing the entire way.

Alex smiled at the thought. She could be a right evil cow when she wanted to be. Part of her 'charm', he supposed.

With this thought in mind, Alex made his way through the darkened roads of Clifton. The suburb of Bristol was one of the most beautiful, with it's wide boulevards, open green spaces and Georgian architecture. At night, the old oil laps came on, now powered by electricity of course, casting long dark shadows over the area, just like tonight.

Alex wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he'd thought to put on something more than a light hoodie. The wind was as cutting as it was cold, passing through the thin material as if it weren't even there. Shivering, Alex started to speed up as he got closer to his destination. It was just around the corner up ahead. He could see it now, the limestone walls, the black railing marking the edge of the property, even the man standing on the corner, all lit up by the cast iron street lamp on the corner.

As he got closer, the corner slowly came into more focus, and with it, the man on the corner. Alex could now see that this man had thought about the cold, protected by what looked like a thick trench-coat. He could also see that the man was holding onto a lead, on the end of which was a dog.

The thought of why someone walking their dog would stop on a well-lit street corner flickered through Alex's mind, but he pushed it aside, a gust of wind distracting him back to his lack of clothing.

He sped up again, breaking into a jog as he reached the corner. The man still hadn't moved, but Alex took no notice of him, except to ensure that he left enough room not to trip over the man's dog – some kind of spaniel.

"Hello Alex."

Alex almost fell over, regardless of any dog. He hadn't been called that name since Jack had accidentally used the name when she'd been telling him off last year, but that hadn't been the most shocking thing. However long it had been since their last contact, Alex didn't think he'd ever forger that voice.

Agent Crawley, his old MI6 liaison.

Alex stopped in his tracks, now totally oblivious to the cold as he stared straight ahead. He could see the café further down the road, he could even see the back of Maddie's head. If he turned around, it was likely he'd never make it to see his 'oldest friend', but he knew he had to.

"I knew you'd come and find me someday." Alex said, still refusing to turn and face his old colleague, instead contenting himself with looking at Maddie as she sipped her coffee.

Crawley gave a small, insincere laugh. "You did, huh?" Alex heard Crawley's footsteps as the man came to stand beside him. "She's pretty, you're a lucky man."

Alex snorted. "If I were lucky, I wouldn't be talking to you right now." Out the corner of his eye, Alex saw Crawley duck his head, as if in sympathy.

"That's probably true."

A long pause permeated between the two men, making the air around them heavy with un-spoken tension. The two men stood in a companionable silence as they watched Maddie reading some magazine for what seemed like the longest time, before it was eventually broken by Alex.

"With the risk of sounding blunt: What do you want?"

Agent Crawley stayed silent for a little while, perhaps formulating an answer that wasn't likely to set Alex running off in the opposite direction to London. "I'm not going to lie to you Alex, I have to much respect for you to do that," Crawley promptly ignored Alex's snort of disbelief, "We need your assistance on a case. I'm afraid I can't say anything more out in the open, you know how it is, but Mr Blunt would like to brief you personally back at the bank."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?" Alex asked with a heavy heart.

Crawley sighed, catching Alex's tone of voice, "I'm afraid my orders are to get you back to the bank using any means necessary."

Another pregnant pause filled the the air as the two continued their vigil on the reading Maddie. They both flinched slightly, coving their faces with inconspicuous movements of their hands as the girl looked up and out of the window, searching for someone. Alex.

"Can I at least say goodbye?"

Crawley sighed once again, rubbing his forehead with a weary hand. "And what would you say? _'Hi Hunny, just popping off to London for no reason at _all,' or perhaps something more along the lines of _'Sorry, must dash. MI6 want me to save their skins again,'_?"

Alex didn't respond, instead he allowed himself to stare at his best friend in the entire world as she started to think he'd stood her up. He could see the worry in her eyes, and he had to fight with his legs very hard to stop them running over to her. She'd be devastated if he just disappeared, just as he knew that he'd be crushed if she ever left him to fend for himself again.

He just hoped she could forgive him.

"Come on," Crawley said, softly but firmly gripping Alex's elbow, "we best go before she spots us."

Alex didn't nod, but didn't protest either as he allowed himself to be lead back around the corner. It felt like he was being lead towards the gallows, just worse, because he couldn't say goodbye.

He cast one forlorn look back over his shoulder, and his heart flickered as his eyes caught with Maddie's for a millisecond. Then he was round the corner, and she was gone.

He couldn't possibly know, but Maddie's eyes lingered on that corner for longer than ten minutes, her mind acknowledging a kind of loss that she couldn't understand. It was as if she'd just lost her best friend.

But that was stupid, because she knew Daniel would never leave her all alone. He just couldn't.

* * *

"

_You have no idea how long this took me to edit. Hours longer that it took to write originally. The second half of the chapter was literally re-written entirely. Keen readers will have noticed that it practically follows exactly the same course of events, but to me it feels much-much better._

_Anyway, the first half was a little bit of a mess. I'd edited that chapter a number of times for the original fic, it's importance in setting the story is obvious, but I still managed to find things wrong with it. The Spaniard was made into a slightly more real character, he'll have a bigger part to play later on in the fic, so that needed to be done. Watch this space._

_On the second half: The rugby in the original was a little false – no one actually shouts commands like that in play. Sure, there are a few calls that teams will have, but I can quite confidently say that none are as stupid as 'Bongo-Bongo-Bongo', as was written in the original text. I think this game was much more interesting to read, especially for those who aren't too familiar with the sport. It was a challenge to make it informative, and yet not boring for those who know what's going on, but I think it went ok._

_The meeting with Maddie was changed too. It was cringe-worthy in the original fic, so it had to go, but she is important, meaning I had to write her back in straight away. You'll notice their relationship is a little more defined here that it was last time, and that'll be important too._

_Crawley was a real arse in the original fic (he was also called 'Carter'), and I didn't really like that much. I think he has more tack than that, so I allowed him to be a little more softly-softly here. I think it worked well. Again, tell me what you think._

_In summary, this was more of a cosmetic re-writing of chapters, and so it should this early on. Don't let that fool you though. There will be changes to this story's plot; some major, many more minor, but lots of minor changes do add up. I guess what I'm trying to say is: don't think that just because this is essentially a re-write, it's going to be all the same as last time. It's not. Trust me on that one._

_That's about it for now. I think I better tell you all now that I am looking for a Beta reader, as it's quite hard to edit work that you've only just edited from an original copy of your own work yourself. If that didn't make any sense to you, then you can see how complicated this can get, and how helpful it would be to have someone to read over my 'final copy' for mistakes before I post it. Needless to say, the Beta would have to be a lot more hard working and efficient than me, being quite happy to kick me up the bottom when I'm being slow and what-not._

_Anyway, thank you all for reading/re-reading this fic of mine. She's over two years old now, but that just makes her a classic. That's what I think anyway..._

_Thanks again._

_Chris_


	2. Royal and General Bank

_**Sunday, 28th November, 0124  
London, United Kingdom**_

It was the early hours by the time the midnight-black government Mercedes pulled up outside the head office of MI6. The street was well lit by the slight orange glow of halogen street lights, but as Alex and Crawley stepped out of the car, they found themselves the only ones in sight. Alex found the experience of the deserted high-street slightly disconcerting, but was soon distracted back to his current situation as Crawley started pacing towards an alley down the side of the '_Royal and General Bank_'.

Alex, now finding himself totally alone on the street as the car pulled away and Crawley disappeared into the shadows, quickly followed the man into the alley, finding him standing outside what looked like a delivery entrance door set back into the grey stone of the building. Just next to the door, there was a simple brass plaque that stated '_Night Deliveries: Ring for Assistance_'.

"It's not often that we have people using the front entrance in the middle of the night," Crawley said, slipping a hand into his inside jacket pocket and produced what looked like a small black leather wallet. "Obviously, we can't have the public seeing our people coming and going at all hours, so we have a number of other, more secret entrances that I'm sure you'll come to discover over time." He stepped right up to the door, pressing the wallet flush against the metal plaque.

"This is one of the less secret ones."

Alex heard a soft clunk of metal on metal, and the door swept inwards. Without pausing for thought, Crawley stepped into the darkness beyond. Alex was a little more cautious, looking surreptitiously about before following the man inside.

The moment he stepped across the threshold, he heard the door shut behind him, locking securely. Almost simultaneously, bar lights in the ceiling blinked into life, illuminating the small room Alex found himself in with a quiet hum. The walls, painted some kind of pale magnolia, didn't help dispel the glare from this rather harsh lighting arrangement.

"You soon get used to it," Crawley said, noticing Alex's squint. He popped the wallet back into his inside pocket and crossed the room, punching in a quick five-digit code into a small number pad next to the only other door. This second door buzzed and opened inwards, where Crawley held it open for Alex.

"Normally, I wouldn't use this particular entrance myself," he said as Alex passed him into the Bank's main foyer. "There's a delightful café near the entrance in the park that I usually have a coffee at in the mornings..." Crawley seemed to shake his head, and moved to lead Alex towards the back of the room, towards the lifts.

"Anyway, due to your being relatively new here," he gave Alex a sly look, "and the small fact that you _did_ try to assassinate one of the big cheeses..."

Alex felt the overwhelming urge to be cheeky and mention the relative ease of the operation, but contented himself by grinning. It wasn't every day that someone managed to sneak into a MI6 building undetected, after all. Well, almost undetected anyway.

"...now it's policy to scan everybody and every_thing_ that enters the upper floors of this and every MI6 building." Crawley finished as they reached the lifts. Alex looked back at the metal detectors that were still placed near the front door. The metal detectors that they hadn't been anywhere near.

"But..." Alex said, drawing Crawley's attention. The man chuckled to himself as he spotted what Alex was looking at.

"Those are just for show, Alex. We have new methods now, but they're not exactly sanctioned by privacy laws, so we have to keep them a little hush-hush." The lift in front of them 'dinged', and the two stepped in, Crawley pressing the button for level 6 without pause.

"It's all to do with the lifts you see, they're now have fully equipped with sensors built into the walls." he said as the doors closed.

"_Going up._" said a computerised female voice, although if the lift had started moving, Alex must have completely missed it, because he still felt like he was standing still.

For the first time, Alex felt a little uneasy. Sure, being tracked down and kidnapped by MI6 wasn't exactly a non-stress operation, but Alex knew these people, and while he didn't exactly trust them as far as he could throw them, he did trust them enough to know that the worst they'd do would be to give him an ultimatum. However, for some reason, the idea of some anonymous guy 'scanning' him from some anonymous room above his head really didn't sit well with him.

Totally oblivious to Alex's discomfort, Crawley continued with his explanation.

"You see, we fire ultra-high frequency radio waves at low power from these two walls here," he said pointing at the two 'side walls' of the lift, "and, just like an X-ray, either they go through you, or they bounce off, depending on the density of... well, you. Using computers, we process all this information into a three-dimensional image."

He chuckled, misinterpreting the look of irritation on Alex's face as a look of confusion. "Just think of it as an MRI scan, just without the huge magnetic ring, or the X-rays, or the having to remain perfectly still..."

Alex was on the verge of telling the man to shut the hell up, when the lift announced it's arrival. Alex blinked, he still felt like he was standing on the first floor.

"_Floor 6B: Identification please…"_ a female voice said over the loudspeaker. Alex frowned, what was he meant to do? Shout his name at some hidden microphone? He was about to ask when one of the metal panels, next to the normal button panel, slid to the side to reveal some sort of glass plate.

"It's a palm-reader." Crawley said without prompting, "Watch."

Crawley put his hand on the pad and they both watched as a red line slid down the plate. Taking his hand away, a perfect print of his hand was left on the screen where another line, green this time, slid left to right across the pad. The only indication that it had been accepted was the lack of sirens and flashing lights as the print disappeared.

Alex gathered it was his turn as Crawley stepped aside. Moving up to the panel, he placed his hand on the glass as Crawley had done, and the horizontal red line slid down his hand. It was a strange feeling: hot, as if the print was being burnt onto the screen, but not so hot that he had an urge to take his hand away. The line disappeared off the bottom of the screen and Alex relaxed his hand, wiping it on his jeans. The green vertical line swept across the print, and now that he was closer, Alex could see green dots being left on key points of the print for the computer to use as identification reference points. Just as before, the print disappeared just after the green line slid off the screen. Suddenly, the loudspeakers barked back into life.

"_Welcome, Agent Crawley, Agent Rider._" Alex felt his eyebrows flying up into his hairline. So he was an acknowledged agent now was he? Did this mean Blunt already had plans to use him on more than just this mission? Well, this time Alex wasn't going to let himself be manipulated like that. The lift door opened and the two stepped out in unison, but Alex had visited Blunt's office enough times to know where it was, even if it was a while ago now.

Leaving Crawley behind, he stormed towards Blunt's side of the building. It was strange, being able to storm through the headquarters of MI6, the glass walls and shiny surfaces flashing past without even so much of a paper-clip boy asking where this hoodie-wearing eighteen year old boy was going. It was almost as if Alex didn't exist to them, or perhaps rampaging teenagers was a common sight in the office. Who knew what MI6 had gotten up to in the four years of his absence, and Alex really wouldn't put it past Blunt to try to re-create the 'success' he'd had with Alex. It would be just like the bastard.

Eventually, Alex found the door. As with the rest of the office, it was modern and 'new'. In that respect it was quite nice, if you liked that kind of thing, but it was also exactly the same as every other office door in the place. A light coloured wood, probably ash, with silver-coloured fixtures and name plate. It was this silvery plaque that was the only distinguishing feature.

It read : '_Alan Blunt - CEO._'

A fleeting second before he made contact with the door, Alex felt the urge to laugh. Alan Blunt's cover was being a CEO in a bank? They must have thought long and hard on that one.

It didn't stop him hitting it with enough force to fling it open and leave a hole in the plaster where the bulbous door handle crashed into it. Blunt looked up from his desk, slightly shocked at the intrusion, and within seconds, agents were running towards the office.

The first one to reach the door attempted a crude kind of rugby tackle, one which Alex had been training to dodge the entire season, and therefore had no trouble dealing with. A quick sidestep and the man found himself diving through thin-air. His head connected with a glass coffee table with a crash. He didn't get back up.

The second agent wasn't much more successful. Approaching from behind, he managed to get Alex in a throat-grab, but was quickly incapacitated by a sharp elbow to his stomach, and a trip head first over Alex's shoulder. Alex's punch to the face probably helped keep the man down too.

The third agent was a woman, and like most women, she reacted in a much more rational manner, drawing her sidearm and shouting at Alex to drop. Unfortunately, she was much to close to Alex when she drew the gun, and she quickly found herself on the floor with her own weapon pointed at her head.

It was at this point that three more agents arrived at the door, and seeing the gun in Alex's hands drew their own weapons.

"Freeze!" one of them shouted, "Drop the weapon!"

And Alex did, freeze that is. He hadn't meant it to get quite this far, but there was no way he was going to drop the only thing that was stopping them from shooting him. As long as he didn't move, they wouldn't, they couldn't touch him. Especially in front of Blunt.

Alex looked up at the man. He was still sitting behind his desk, looking less shocked, and more pleased with himself than Alex would have liked. He'd dropped the files he'd been looking through previously, and was now leaning back in his chair in what was almost a 'casual' style. Of course, Alan Blunt was one of the most 'boring' people Alex knew, so casual for him still looked as if he had a rake shoved up his ass.

"Hullo, Alex." he said softly. The Agents in the doorway faltered slightly. Alan Blunt was famous throughout MI5 and MI6 for his mannerisms. There was the fact that he was a stubborn old dog, the fact that he bought all his ties in '_Marks and Spencer_', and the fact that he never, _never_, called anyone by their first names. Even his second in chief, Mrs Jones, was only ever called that: 'Mrs Jones'.

Speaking of her.

"Well well, if it isn't Alex!" she said as she strolled into the room. "My, how you've grown!"

Alex felt his eyebrows rising into his hairline again. Here he was, pointing a handgun down at one of her agents, and there she was, commenting about his height like a doting auntie. He even managed to catch one of the agents' eyes, sharing a look of disbelief.

"You can put those away," Mrs Jones said calmly to the agents in the doorway, "If Alex was going to kill her, he'd have done it by now."

If Alex could have raised his eyebrows any further, he would have.

"That goes for you too, Alex." she finished, fixing him with a stern look. "If you were anyone else, you'd already be dead. Don't push your luck."

"If I were anyone else, I wouldn't have been driven halfway across the country and ordered into your office at one thirty in the morning." Alex replied, relaxing his stance so that his arm, and the gun, were resting against his side, rather than pointing at anyone.

"That's not quite right, Alex." Blunt said, standing up and walking round his desk to check the pulse of the a who's head was now part of his coffee table, "You're special, but you're not that special." he looked up at the agents in the doorway. "Get this man to the medical office. He'll probably need a few stitches. Take Foster with you too." he said, nodding to the other fallen agent.

The room was quickly cleared, Alex handing back the gun to the female Agent without a word. Within a minute, Blunt had closed the door, and was inspecting the hole Alex had made in the wall with the door handle.

"I apologise for interrupting your evening." he said, sounding less than sympathetic despite the words. Shaking his head slightly, he walked back behind his desk. "I understand you'd just won some kind of inter-school rugby match, congratulations."

"Unbeaten season, thanks. Just one of the advantages of my life away from you guys." Alex fixed his eyes on the old Spymaster, who stared blankly back. Eventually, Blunt looked away to apparently get something out of one of his draws, inciting a smug smile from Alex. Who knew, Blunt first to back down in a staring competition.

"I know you might not want to be here," said Mrs Jones, breaking into Alex's slightly-lightened mood, "but we really do need your help on this one."

She sat down on one of the uncomfortable-looking grey sofas, patting the seat next to her in indication that he should follow suit. Alex sat, but in a chair across the room, so he could keep both Mrs. Jones and Blunt in his field of vision.

"That's nice and all, to know that I'm 'needed', but why me? Why now, after all this time?"

Blunt grunted and walked over to a filing cabinet. After a few seconds of sifting through the files, he pulled out a folder, and after few more seconds and a bit more flicking, another file was extracted. He closed the draw and walked behind his desk, throwing the files onto the desk with a slap as he sat.

"We have a problem." He said simply, pushing one of the files across the desk towards Alex, "We have an agent in trouble…" Alex went to pick up the folder, but a comment from Mrs Jones stopped him in mid-movement.

"Don't you think you should start at the beginning?" She said, throwing the man what Alex thought could almost be called an 'annoyed' look, "He needs to know…"

"Know what?" Alex blurted out.

"He's going to find out soon enough anyway, and it would make things a hell of a lot easier." Mrs Jones finished, crossing her arms over her chest.

Blunt's eyes flicked to his colleague's, and in a grumpy kind of movement, he reached down to pick out another folder from inside his desk draws. Reappearing, he flicked through the folder himself quickly, before handing it straight over to Alex.

"We have a new division of spy in MI6, of which Mrs. Jones is head." Alex looked to her, and she gave a small nod. Nodding, Alex opened the file, and read the first page.

"What's this?" he said, pointing to an acronym in the first paragraph. "U-N-I-T-I?"

"UNited International Training Initiative," Mrs Jones provided, casually unwrapping a small yellow sweet, "It's pronounced 'Unity'"

"Its an international venture following your success as an agent." Blunt added from his desk, his grumpiness hidden behind a wall of 'boring' once again.

Alex eyed the man wearily, "What d'you mean by that exactly? My 'success as an agent'..."

Mrs Jones shot her boss a conspiring look as she popped the sweet into her mouth. She sucked on it for a short while before answering the question aimed at her boss. "If we learnt one thing from taking you under our wing all those years ago, it was that your age gave you a huge advantage in the field."

"No one expects a teenager, you mean." Alex retorted, a frown flickering across his face. "Don't tell me you went and tried to force other kids to do your dirty work..."

"The Americans, the CIA in specific, were the first to come forward about creating a team of agents like yourself," Blunt said, totally ignoring Alex's growing anger, "but there was no way we could formally train that type of agent without other countries finding out, so we decided to include our other key allies."

"You couldn't... You didn't..." Alex's voice was barely a whisper, and that's probably why Blunt continued.

"At first we had trouble finding suitable students as well trained as you were at that age," Blunt said, sharing a look with Mrs Jones, who nodded. Alex fought with the urge to snort in disgust at the word _'student'_, as if Blunt was trying to gloss over who it was he was targeting with this 'UNITI' project, "but over the past few years we've been combing the involved countries for prospective talent."

"How dare you! Haven't you learnt anything from what I went through!" Alex was quite audible this time, which seemed to stun Blunt for a second, but Mrs Jones didn't falter.

"Yes Alex, we did learn something from you." she said, "To be a successful agent at your age, you need very specialised and intense training in not only the physical skills, but mental conditioning too, much like a conventional agent."

Alex sat, slightly gob-smacked at the shear audacity of the people in front of him. He was horrified that these people, who were meant to be keeping the children of the country safe, were actively looking for kids to subject to possibly the worst kind of life he could imagine. Naturally, they took this as a sign to continue.

"Yes, you see, I felt that you had been insufficiently prepared for the psychological sides of the job, so I now make it a major part of the training program." said Mrs Jones.

Alex's gaze snapped over to her face.

"You mean to say that just by giving kids, _children_, a little bit of psychological training, you feel it's okay for you to throw them into life-threatening situations! What gives you the right to use kids in the first place?!"

"Now Alex, think about what you did as a spy at that age." Mrs. Jones said, talking as if he'd won some sort of trophy. "You saved the UK, the World, from war and destruction more than once. If we didn't have you…"

"You would have used other agents," Alex cut in, "Other methods of stopping those people. I was just your easy way out, dispensable. I was just one kid, my life meant nothing against the lives of the 'entire world' as you put it. If I had died, I doubt you'd have even cared."

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said, a hurt look in her eye. "you forget that we knew your parents; they were very popular in the community. Your death would have been felt by more people than I think you know."

"And _you _forget that I know you people, all too well." Alex said, rising to his feet, "Since the moment you got your hands on me, I was shoved from danger to danger. No sooner had I gotten rid of one terrorist, than I was shoved in front of the next. If you cared for me so much, you wouldn't have, _couldn't_ have done that to me."

"Enough, Rider!" roared Blunt, apparently having had enough with Alex's little tantrum, "I did not order you here so you could have a go at us!"

A silence rang through the air as Blunt's words came to an abrupt stop. Even the hustle and bustle of the corridor outside the office seemed to have stopped dead. The man sighed, before standing and walking over to the large window at the side of the office. Alex watched in fascination as the man silently surveyed the landscape beyond the window, his body held in only the slightest posture of defeat.

"Perhaps we didn't treat you properly, I'm big enough to admit that." he said after a time looking out over the nearby docklands, "We all make mistakes, and unfortunately the position I am in means that when I make mistakes, they tend to be rather large ones." He turned, locking eyes with Alex. "But I like to think that we repaid that debt. We saved your life, and then set you free, with all the protection of a prince so that you could live your life without fear of being assassinated again."

Blunt broke eye contact, and suddenly Alex felt more than a little childish. It was true, they had been less than respectable with the way they had used him all those years ago, and whilst Alex had more than a right to be angry, they had protected him from possibly the world's greatest organised crime ring – Scorpia.

It didn't mean he had to be happy about what they were doing, but he might as well hear them out.

"Okay," Alex said, regulating his voice into what he hoped was something bordering on 'calm', "Okay, I'm listening."

"Good," said Mrs Jones, who had been watching the conversation with interest. She stood and picked up one of the folders that were still lying on Blunt's desk, handing it to Alex with a flourish. "Take a flick through this," she said, taking yet another sweet from one of her outside suit jacket pockets, "It's a portfolio on an agent that's gone missing."

Alex opened the folder, and the first thing he noticed was the small stamp-size picture of an attractive blond girl. A bit of reading quickly put a name to this face – Trista Mathews.

"Um..." Alex said, trying to control the urge to explode, "this girl... Trista," he looked up at Mrs Jones, who was now sucking happily on her sweetie, "Well, she's a girl..."

Mrs Jones made a strange face, it looked like she was trying to smile, but failing badly at the same time. It occurred to Alex that perhaps the sweet had suddenly turned sour in her mouth. "Yes, Alex, she is of the female variety." she paused, before asking, "Is that a problem?"

Alex didn't really know what to say. Okay, so he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to say. It was something along the lines of '_You can't have young girls in the field!_', but he knew that any objections he might have would be falling on deaf ears. After all, this girl already was 'missing'. Alex decided it was probably better to concentrate on that fact.

"Err...no. You said she's in some sort of trouble?"

Blunt spoke up, "That's just the problem, we don't know." he picked up the third folder and opened it on his desk. "Approximately 36 hours ago, Agent Mathews contacted UNITI HQ with a transmission saying that she'd found a way to infiltrate her mark's highest security building. She was hoping that she'd be able to lay her hands on material that would connect the mark to a drugs cartel that we've been watching for a while now. It should have been a simple operation, especially for her."

"Why's that?" Alex said, looking back down at his file on the girl for information. He needn't have bothered.

"Trista is one of our most experienced operatives within the UNITI project." said Mrs Jones, "She's been active for just over two years now, having spent the two years previous to that training with us. Even in training, she was a high-flyer, coming top in nearly every class we threw at her, it was no surprise to us that she was our very first operative.

"I can't go into too much detail about her missions," she gave him a small, apologetic smile, "you simply don't have the clearance, but I can tell you that as far as we're concerned, she's as effective an agent as you were."

Alex nodded his understanding. When Mrs Jones gave out compliments like the sweets she was so fond of, it could mean only one thing: the girl was good, one of their best, which brought up the question: "Why me? You said she's _one_ of your best agents, so surely there's some other agent you could use. They'd probably have more experience than me at this stage anyway."

Blunt sighed tiredly, "I'm afraid that all of our operatives that would qualify for this sort of rescue mission are already on assignment, and those that aren't on assignment, they simply aren't up to the task. We have to take into account that Agent Mathews was a specialist in both stealth and recon." The man grunted, looking down at the file for a second, "For her to disappear like she has, we have to assume that there's something very serious going on."

Alex frowned, "That's nice and all, but it doesn't really answer my question. I'm four years out of practice, and I _know_ you have better agents than me within other branches of MI6. So, why me?"

Mrs Jones gave her boss a very furtive look before answering. "Technically, UNITI doesn't exist. It's a black opp in every sense of the word, and that means that the only people within the Secret Intelligence Service that know about it are Alan, myself, and now you." Alex's eyebrows rose once again at his apparent inclusion of the 'SIS', but didn't comment. "If we were to ask an 'outside agent' to rescue Trista, or any other UNITI operative for that matter, and for that agent to go down in the attempt, we'd find ourselves in a bit of a sticky situation."

"Oh, and seeing as I'm technically 'dead' according to government records, if I 'went down', it wouldn't really matter." Alex said, crossing his arms angrily. He knew it would probably come down to something like this, he was just hoping that they'd changed over the years. Apparently that hope had been in vain.

Mrs Jones frowned, "Is that really what you think of us, Alex?" she said, leaning forward in her chair, "That we value the lives of our agents so little? If that were true, do you think we'd have gone to the lengths we have to get you here, for this _rescue_ mission?" she paused, glancing at Blunt.

"The reason you're here is because _you_ are her last hope, Alex." she said, her face twisted into an unnatural sort of 'concerned' expression that didn't suit her. In fact, it looked quite painful. "You are the last agent with the skill level required that we have available to us. We've got our hands tied, and if you don't go after her, we have no choice but to leave her where she is until an appropriate agent becomes free," she locked her eyes onto Alex's, "and by that time, she may well be dead."

The pair stared at each other for quite a while, Alex's bright blue eyes boring into Mrs Jones' chocolate brown, neither backing down, but neither attempting to break the other's gaze either. It was Alex who eventually broke the connection, but only to look as far as the portfolio on his lap.

Trista's face, stern but beautiful, stared up at him from the small passport photo. He picked up the folder, it's weight making it feel as if he held the girl's entire life in his hands.

If he walked away, this girl would likely die where she lay. There really was no one else coming for her, the fact that MI6 was contacting _him_ was evidence enough of that.

On the other hand, this girl was meant to be the best, so the likelihood that it would be an easy, straight-forward mission was next-to-none. There was a high probability that something would go wrong, that he might not walk away from this with his life. But then, that was nothing new.

There was only one answer

"Okay, but I'm not going to be able to jump straight back into things, you know."

Blunt did something at this point that shocked Alex more than anything he'd seen or heard that day. Alan Blunt _smiled_. "Oh don't you worry about that." he said, a predatory tone to his voice, "We have ways of getting you back in shape..."

Suddenly, Alex thought he might have made a mistake.

* * *

"_**Author's Notes"**_

_  
This chapter was interesting to edit. During the original fic, I actually re-wrote this chapter multiple times before I was happy with it, and when I went through it this time, I could actually remember some of the original text that I deleted. None of it has returned, it was excluded for a reason, but it was a trip down memory lane..._

_Anyway, Crawley was altered slightly, making him a little more friendly as per the last chapter, and the entrance to the Bank has been changed too. Before, it just seemed a little – wrong. It's not exactly a 'normal' thing to see someone going into a Bank at 0130 in the morning, so it had to change._

_Blunt and Jones also got a bit of a make over. Blunt actually shows a little emotion, possibly weakness in his old age, although I took out a rant by him that I considered out of character. Jones has started to eat a lot of sweets, and seems very 'aloof' in this version. I'm not sure how in-character this is, but I made a decision to 'soften' her character during this fic, and this is just a first step towards this._

_Oh, I also took out an entire section dealing with women in the military. Not quite sure what it was doing there in the first place..._

_Any thoughts on the chapter are welcome._

_Chris_


	3. Enter the Hunter

_**Sunday, 28th November, 0426  
Undisclosed Location,  
**__**Swiss-French Alps**_

Alex Rider yawned as he leant back in his latest mode of transport, his body being slowly shaken asleep by the vibrations. It had been a long day.

Within minutes of the meeting with Blunt and Jones, he'd been bungled into an unmarked car and driven for what felt like miles. In what direction he couldn't say for sure, as the windows were tinted so black that even the street lights looked like the faintest of fireflies, but his sense of direction told him it was vaguely north west.

Then the car had abruptly come to a stop. He'd been swept from it with nary an explanation, and into a waiting Learjet with a rather nice black paint-job, naturally. They'd taken off minutes later. Alex remembered finding it amusing that even the windows in the jet were tinted, meaning that he couldn't see the runway, let alone the ground when they were up 50,000 feet.

Two hours later, just when he'd managed to snooze off, he'd been awoken by a rather harsh landing. He'd reflexively gone to look out the window, but naturally, he couldn't see a thing. Five minutes later and he was yet again being ushered across an airstrip. It had only just registered that this man was dressed in regular army combats, and talking French, when the helicopter door had slid shut, and Alex was once again in the air.

That had been half an hour ago, and despite this vehicle being the first to have normal non-tinted windows, he still had no idea where he was. The terrain outside was mountainous, but possibly more importantly, it was cloaked in thick blankets of snow.

Sighing, he turned his head to study the inside of the chopper. From his position in the back, he could easily see into the cockpit, and from this view, Alex had decided that he was inside a variant of the Lynx helicopter, which was strange, because outside the British Armed Services, it was only ever used by foreign Navy's.

And as far as he could see, he was nowhere near the any ocean...

Brushing this thought aside, he went to studying the people who were inside the chopper with him. The French-speaking serviceman who'd ushered him into the helicopter had been left on the tarmac, but waiting inside had been two more people, aside from the pilots. So far, neither had attempted conversation, despite the fact that they were both sat facing the opposite direction to Alex. Instead, they seemed to favour simply sitting in silence and watching the ground rush past them from the windows.

The first, obviously the more elderly of the two, was a haggard looking man whose face showed signs of extreme stress, and his hair, what was left of it, was the silvery side of grey. Alex got the feeling that this was not a man to argue with, however, as everything from the pristine creases in his uniform (that of an American Colonel), to his handlebar moustache that looked like it had been cut using a ruler as a guide, marked the guy down as a stickler for the rules. At the moment though, he was deep in thought as he stared blankly out the window, a deep frown creasing the stern face.

The other passenger was much younger, and sitting directly opposite Alex, giving him a much clearer view. At a guess, Alex would have said the guy was just the other side of 20, although he carried the same deep-in-thought look that Alex could see in the Colonel's eyes. It occurred to Alex that perhaps both these people knew this 'Trista' girl, but put it out of his mind, he'd probably find out later anyways.

Studying the young man a little more, Alex decided that this was probably one of UNITI's agents, most likely one of their first. He was athletically built, with high cheekbones and a kind face, that didn't really match his short, cropped hair. His desert-combats were dusty and torn in places, showing recent action, Alex could even see small stones embedded in the toe of the young man's combat boots. It was obvious that he'd just been flown in from somewhere, much like Alex himself.

Alex resisted the urge to whistle in appreciation of the effort Blunt was going to for this girl. If Alex had ended up missing, which had happened on a number of occasions actually, he wouldn't have expected any great rescue operation. But, here he was, on a helicopter with a grizzled American army officer and an operating agent who was, by the looks of him, already on assignment.

It seemed Mrs Jones' softer side had finally rubbed off a little on the old Spymaster.

Alex would have thought on it a little longer, but the chopper made a sharp turn to the left, forcing Alex out of his thoughts as he threw a hand out to steady himself in his seat. Opposite him, the two other passengers appeared to have weathered the sudden movement much better, as both had grasp of overhead hand-holds.

Once he'd regained his balance, and some manner of his pride, Alex turned to look out the window, not that it did any good as all he could see were the same snowy peaks as before.

"Yeh must be new here." a voice said, or rather it was shouted, such was the noise of the two 1,000 horsepower Rolls-Royce jet engines less than a meter above their heads.

Giving up on the window, Alex sat back in his seat, turning to the young man in front of him. Alex assumed it was he who had spoken, as he was now giving Alex his full attention, leaning forward in his seat with a small smile.

Alex gave his own little grin. "You could say that." he replied. The young man nodded in understanding.

"I can still remember my firs' time." he said in an Irish drawl, "It were in the middle of a blizzard, so I couldn't see a 'ting. Not that it stopped me looking." he nodded his head towards the window, before giving Alex an appraising look.

"Ye're a little old to start training though, aren't yeh?"

Alex felt his eyebrow reflexively rise. This one was smart...

"It might be my first time _here_," he replied, inclining his head towards the window, "but I wouldn't exactly say I was a novice at the whole 'spy-game' thing."

The young man opposite narrowed his eyes, but seemed to concede the point after a brief internal debate. "We'll see." he said with a smile that was just a little too predatory for Alex's likening. "The name's Conner," he said, offering his hand, "Conner O'Neil."

"Alex Hunter." Alex replied, using the pseudo name he and Blunt had agreed on. For some reason, Mrs Jones hadn't been too keen for Alex to use his real name, thinking it might attract a little too much attention within UNITI, and Alex had secretly agreed. Sure, he'd longed for some kind of recognition back in the day, but hero worship was something he really didn't want to experience.

"So," he said, leaning back in his seat again, "How long have you been doing this?"

Conner gave him a cheeky smile, before answering. "I'm afraid that's classified." he said, tapping his nose, "and anyway, even if I wanted to tell yeh, I couldn't."

Alex snorted out a laugh. "Why? Because you'd have to kill me afterwards?"

"No." Conner replied, albeit with a small smile, "'Cause we've arrived."

* * *

_**Sunday, 28th November, 1532 local time  
Undisclosed Camp,  
**__**Guaviare region, Colombia**_

It was a wet day in the Colombian jungle. The heavens had opened sometime during the night, and despite a slight thinning of the clouds, it hadn't relented for a second since. During this time, the rain seemed to have permeated all levels of the forest, water droplets hanging off every leaf, clinging to every spider's web, and pooling in every conceivable hollow in the jungle floor.

It was through this that the 18-year-old American, Daniel Mason, found himself trudging. Despite the thin layer of waterproofing, or perhaps partly because of it, his clothing was now twice as heavy as they should have been as the droplets made their inevitable way through the meagre defence that it offered. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered putting them on.

_Because you might need them. _Came back the automatic response, one of the many survival skills he was trained in making an appearance. _If something goes wrong, they could mean the difference between life or death._

Daniel shook his head. Sure, the voice was right, but he had to keep his head in the game, not on the endless 'what if's that his job entailed. He's just have to deal with it when it came, _if_ it came.

Not that putting it all out of his mind was easy. He'd been summoned by the local Drug lord, his employer, and for once it had been completely unexpected. For three months, he'd been working for the immensely powerful man, after being recommended by a previous employer as a hard working and trustworthy young man. The fact that the CIA had discreetly 'nudged' his previous employer to give him a glowing reference, and the three years of MI6 intelligence gathering, counter intelligence and covert infiltration training were all unsurprisingly left out of the sparkling CV.

In his time in Colombia, Daniel had amassed a wealth of knowledge about the drug cultivating and smuggling operation going on in the camp, including a complete map of the layout, personnel numbers and shift rotations. However, despite relaying all this information back to his liaison in MI6, he still hadn't gotten anywhere close to the objective of _'Operation Killer Whale'_: the uncovering and arrest of both the drug lord and his clientèle.

Naturally, the Drug lord hadn't let Daniel into the secret of who the main clients were, or even what country they dealt the stuff in, but then, Daniel hadn't expected him to. After all, he'd hardly begun to earn the man's respect.

Well, almost hardly...

Daniel frowned as he reached the outskirts of the camp. Through the jungle canopy, he could just make out the wooden structure at the centre of the camp – the 60ft tall watch tower. It was manned at all times by at least two guards, both armed with AK-47s, although there was a Russian-made SV-98 sniper rifle that was always on hand in the hut.

Daniel snorted at the thought of the guards trying to use the thing through thick jungle. No wonder it was rumoured that the rifle hadn't been fired in twenty years.

Looking down to his side, he did a quick check of his own AK-47. It was standard issue to all of the Drug lord's guards and bodyguards, and Daniel couldn't afford for the gun to fall to pieces if he actually had to use it. The hope was there that he wouldn't, but the Colombian government hardly forecasted their up-coming raids, and Daniel had been briefed to stick with the deep-cover as long as possible – Colombian government involvement or not.

The possibility of killing didn't phase him, much; he'd done it before, after all. However, he was rather keen to keep his life going past his 19th birthday, and being in the centre of a fire-fight with a defunked gun wasn't going to help that much.

After a quick check of its the parts, and confident that they were all moving like they should, Daniel slung the weapon back over his shoulder and trudged on through the jungle, towards his destination.

It wasn't a bad job, he reasoned, being a bodyguard to a Drug lord. Sure, there was always the possibility of a gunfight, but mostly people were afraid of the man, including the government, and that kept all but the most suicidal of people from even attempting an assassination. Then there was the wealth and luxury that came with it. Whilst the Drug lord took 'siestas' and what-not, the bodyguards mostly lazed about in the guy's living spaces, being fed and watered by his servants. Every whim was catered for, and Daniel could reason why. If you're going to trust a team of men to protect you, then you definitely want them to stay on-side. If spoiling them a little convinced them not to turn on their employer, so-be-it.

Daniel smiled. He sure wasn't complaining.

As Daniel walked up to the camp's boundary fence, which was more of a low wall, he waved up to one of the guards in the watch-tower, grabbing the man's attention. He'd found out the hard way that strolling into the camp without doing this tended to make some people quite trigger-happy. It was just lucky he'd been standing in jumping distance of one of the more substantial buildings at the time.

As the guard checked him over with a pair of binoculars, Daniel checked his appearance once more. Whilst the Drug lord would understand why the young man in his service was drenched, he wouldn't accept a dirty uniform, if you could call a basic set of khaki clothing a uniform that is.

Eventually, the tower guard waved Daniel into the camp, and he started his way briskly over to one of the only stone buildings in the camp.

Daniel had no idea how the Drug lord had managed to find a way to ship in all the materials needed, especially to this 'secret' camp, but the Drug lord's residence (or, this particular one; he'd counted three so far) was almost entirely brick and mortar. Against the basics of the wooden and clay buildings that surrounded it, the building looked more like a mansion than the relatively small two tier house that it actually was. On the balcony that ran around the entire first floor façades, stood four more guards, who peered down at Daniel as he approached through the rain. However, Daniel was more interested in the guard who stood just outside the front door, just under the balcony.

"Daniel!" the man shouted as he finally recognised the youth through the gloom, "what're you doing here? I thought you had time off until tomorrow?" asked the guard in his native Portuguese. Daniel smiled nervously in reply.

"Antonio called the residence," he replied, employing the Portuguese that he'd been perfecting over the past few months, "said that the Boss wanted to see me as soon as possible."

The guard's eyes widened slightly. "I hope you haven't done anything stupid, Daniel." he shifted slightly, checking over his shoulder before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice, "Last guy who the Boss wanted to 'see', turns out that the guy had been sleeping with the Boss' daughter. We never saw the poor bastard again."

Daniel whistled, trying to think back on what he'd done recently, to see if he'd done anything as stupid as that. Despite the fact that he couldn't remember doing anything idiotic, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps he might have, without noticing. What if the Boss had figured out he was under cover?

"Hey, don't worry about it though." said the guard, seeing Daniel's anxiety, "I'm sure it's nothing. You better go, he's probably waiting you know."

Daniel nodded mutely as he pushed the door ajar. Perhaps it was just as well that he checked his gun was working properly...

The Boss' room was on the second floor, and Daniel immediately made his way over to the rather plushly decorated staircase, completely ignoring his three colleagues that populated the open plan living room-come-kitchen. He sensed rather than felt, therefore, the conspiratorial look that passed between them.

Daniel climbed the staircase in silence, pausing only to compose himself as he came to the Drug lord's office door.

Perhaps it was nothing...

He knocked twice on the wooden door, the noise reverberating around the hallway ominously, before the door suddenly opened in on itself, revealing a man he certainly hadn't expected to see.

"Daniel!" he said, a wide smile spread over his rather hansom features, "Do come in! It's been too long since I saw you!"

Daniel attempted valiantly to remove the confused look on his face, but must have failed somewhere along the line as the Drug lord, his boss, cut in.

"Is quite a shock, no?" the portly man said, in broken English. "I myself, was shocked when Señor Webb walked into my office this morning." he chuckled to himself, "If my aim was not so bad, he would not be so happy, I think."

Webb laughed as he turned to look at a spot in the wall, right next to the door. It didn't take a forensic scientist to identify the bullet hole in the plaster.

"Have you ever thought of getting lessons from your men, Ramon?" Webb said, nodding his head towards Daniel. "You're paying them enough, from what I hear."

Ramon screwed his nose up at the thought. "Guns do not excite me. I find them... troublesome." he said, rubbing his podgy fingers up against the faint stubble that decorated his chin, before suddenly smiling. "Having people to shoot for me is better for my karma, I think. No?"

Webb laughed again, as he tended to do when in a room with another powerful man. "That's not my particular style, but I dare say our own way of doing things serves each of us best." he took another brief look at the bullet hole before adding '_probably better for me than for you_' under his breath.

"But anyway," he said, pulling himself together, "to business!" He turned to Daniel. "I suppose you're wondering what you're doing here."

Daniel nodded, the confused look still plastered all over his face. Webb, Andrew Webb, was one of his old 'employers', back before the CIA had picked him up and dumped him in Europe. He was the same old employer who the UNITI project had leant on for a good reference. It didn't make any sense for him to be associating himself with the Drug lord, especially since he knew that Daniel would have to report it back to HQ. Webb, he thought, was smarter than that.

"I have a job for you." Ramon said from behind his desk. "Señor Webb has asked for his latest shipment a little early this month, and that puts me in a difficult situation. You see, my team has not returned from their last drop yet, so I am people and plane-less."

"And that's why I'm here." Webb said, stepping forward and effectively cutting the Drug lord off from his next sentence. "I knew old Ramon would have difficulties getting an early shipment out to me," as he said this, Daniel was sure he saw a slight smirk, but quickly ignored it. Ramon remained completely oblivious. "so I flew myself out here to offer my own services."

"You do not need to know all the details," said Ramon, looking distinctly ruffled at something. Perhaps he felt that he'd lost out in the deal, "but Señor Webb will be supplying the plane," he leant forward, placing his elbows onto his desk and fixing Daniel with a stare, "and _you_ will be on it."

* * *

_**Sunday, 28th November, 0437  
Undisclosed Location,  
**__**Swiss-French Alps**_

If Alex had been expecting some sort of open-air training camp, like he'd been sent to during his SAS training, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Actually, taking into account the rather thick layers of snow at this altitude, perhaps 'elated' would be a better way to describe it.

As he peered out the helicopter window, he'd had a hard time working out exactly where it was they had 'arrived' at. All he could see was snow and rock, and nowhere where it would be safe to land a helicopter. They were only a few meters above the ground when Alex watched the snow abruptly shift beneath the craft. At first he thought it was an avalanche, caused by the chopper's downdraught, but it soon became apparent that it was nothing of the sort as people became visible, walking about directly below where the snow used to be.

Within seconds, a gap in the snowscape had opened up, wide enough and deep enough to fit more than one helicopter comfortably. Indeed, Alex could now see at least two Apache attack helicopters parked up to one side of the sizeable hanger. Part of him wondered why they needed such firepower, but he ignored it as his own helicopter touched down, and the door in front of him slid open.

Standing beyond it was a stooped member of the ground crew, his green overalls dotted with spots of oil.

"Morning, Sirs," he said, giving a quick salute which no one returned, "This way, the General is waiting."

Alex raised an eyebrow. They had a _General_ running the operation? What was this?

He watched as both Conner and the American Colonel got out of the chopper before him, and then followed into the swirling downdraught of freezing alpine air. Alex looked up, through the spinning rotor blades of the helicopter to see the roof of the hanger, a tangle of metalwork, slide slowly back across the black morning sky. Alex shook his head in wonder as he looked about the sizeable space, taking in the amount of personnel running around. It really was like a full-scale military operation. 

A nudge from Conner brought him back to reality. Alex was a little put-off that the young man was smiling in a superior kind of way, as if he knew exactly what Alex was going through. It was extremely doubtful, however, that Conner had felt the muted horror that was running through Alex's head right now. The operation was big, very big, and that suggested that there were many young agents running about. And that scared Alex more than he could say, not that Conner seemed to notice, as the tall agent smiled knowingly down at him.

Luckily, before Alex acted on the urge to wipe the smile off his face, they were ushered on towards the side of the hanger. Alex stared, wide-eyed in wonder as they passed though a pair of doors that hissed aside hydraulically and into a corridor of breeze-block walls and low-lighting. Coloured lines were pained on the floor and walls, trailing off into parts of the complex that were out of sight, not that any of the people who were walking around were paying much attention to them.

"You're expected in briefing room 3," the ground crew said, nodding at the grey-haired Colonel, "I believe you know the way."

The Colonel grunted something and started off down the corridor at a furious pace, ignoring the salute that the man attempted to give him. Alex and Conner shot the guy sympathetic looks, but quickly followed the American, easily keeping track of him by the wake of people he was making in the narrow corridors.

Fortunately for the complex staff, 'Briefing Room 3' was only a thirty second walk from the Hangar. However, the let-up of chaos in the corridor was only replaced by chaos somewhere else – in the briefing room.

"How the _ruddy_ _hell_ did you manage to loose one of _my_ best agents?!" the Colonel screamed, his gruff silence giving way at the sight of the 'General'.

Alex and Conner slid in quietly behind the Colonel, Conner closing the door at the same time as placating a few of the people who had been startled in the corridor beyond. The General, who was wearing the uniform of a British officer, made eye contact with each of the young men, but kept his face stony as the Colonel continued his assault on him. Alex took this opportunity to study the man.

He was young for a General, Alex noted, not much past forty by the looks of him. His dark hair was way past any regulation length, flopping down the sides of his head like great curtains. If his jaw hadn't been so square and masculine, Alex thought the man might have looked completely ridiculous in the uniform. As it was, the man seemed to give off a cool authority that effected the entire room. Even as the angry American officer attempted to shout him down, the General simply stared back up at the man with icy-blue eyes that would've made Alex shiver.

"A simple _reconnaissance_ mission, you said! No _risk_, you said!" the Colonel puffed, his face turning steadily redder by the second, "No risk my _arse_!"

Personally, Alex agreed with the Colonel. He'd read the mission file, and from the way it was laid out, even Maddy, who had no training what-so-ever, could have carried it out without much trouble. The sheer simplicity of the surveillance operation was what made it so troubling that the girl had gone missing.

"Where exactly did you get your intelligence?!" roared the Colonel, "Because, whoever it was, they should be _shot_!"

A ringing silence fell over the room as the Colonel suddenly halted his tirade. The General shifted his head ever so slightly, before saying in a very soft voice, "Finished, Colonel?"

The American officer grunted something inaudible, but nodded.

"Good." replied the General, "Now sit down before you embarrass yourself any further."

The Colonel blinked at the put-down, but soon recovered and sat in one of the more comfy seats in the room. The General then turned to the two young men, who were still stood at the back of the room.

"Come join us." he said, waving the pair over, "There's not much point you being here, if all you do is stand in the shadows."

Alex shot a glance at Conner, who had a small smirk on his face, before walking into the room more properly, the Irishman a step behind him. As they approached, the General stood behind his desk, extending his hand towards Alex.

"Agent Hunter," the general said, a twinkle in his eye betraying the fact that he knew he was using a false name, "It's good to finally put name-to-face, I've heard so much about you."

"Good to meet you too, sir." Alex said, nodding respectfully as he shook the man's hand, "I've heard absolutely nothing about you."

Despite the blazing row that had just taken place, the General's face split into a smile. "My apologies." he said, scratching the back of his neck in almost an apologetic way, "I'm General Harper. I run things around here." He turned his attention to the other Agent in the room. "O'Neil, it's good to see you again. How was Egypt?"

Conner flicked a quick salute before answering. "Hot, Sir." he said with a smirk, "Hot, dry and sandy. It was horrible, Sir."

"Good." said the General, sitting once again behind the desk, "Wouldn't want you getting soft now, would we?" his jovial expression suddenly disappeared, however, as he reached into a draw and pulled out a grey folder, "Take a seat gentlemen."

Alex and Conner nodded, sensing the dramatic change in mood, and they very quickly found themselves seats. Alex absently noticed that Conner had, from somewhere, produced a small pad of paper and a pencil, and was poised to take notes. Suddenly, he felt very under-prepared.

"You all know the current situation in regard to Agent Mathews," Harper said, opening the file and taking out the contents, "but for clarity, let me refresh your memories."

He began reading from the top-sheet. "Three weeks ago, Mathews was sent out to the Caribbean island of Curaçao on a reconnaissance mission. Her Mark was a street-level drugs dealer by the name of William Douglass, who we believed was connected directly to an international drugs smuggling ring. Her mission entailed her surveying Douglass' movements, and confirming any contacts that he has within the system. Her secondary objective was to obtain a sample of the harder drugs for lab analysis."

The General looked up from his sheet at this point. "It's whilst attempting this second objective that we believe she may have been caught." he said.

Alex nodded. Whilst the girl would have probably been able to afford to buy some of the softer drugs, she would have been hard-pressed to have raised enough money to buy any amount of the harder stuff, especially since dealers tended not to deal out that type of merchandise to new clients. She would have to steal it.

"Just a minute!" the Colonel's voice broke out once more, "I wasn't informed of this _secondary_ objective!" Alex looked over to find the man looking just as outraged as before, perhaps more-so. "As an American citizen, she's under my jurisdiction! You can't send her out on a mission without my approval!"

The General waved a hand in a placating manner, although it didn't seem to do much to diffuse the situation. "Calm down, Alfie." he said, "The secondary objective was added after the start of the mission. Trista suggested it herself."

"Does it matter, when it was added?!" the Colonel barked, "She's still my responsibility!"

Harper sighed, "Yes, it does matter when the objective was added. Once the mission is cleared, it can only be changed by me, and if I do decide to take actions to change the mission objectives, I become solely responsible for the mission, and the personnel involved. Since you agreed to the original mission, I was well within my rights to give her the go-ahead for the secondary objective. It was a good bit of initiative she was showing."

'Alfie' seemed to deflate slightly at this, his eyes flicking over to where Alex and Conner were sitting. "Then what are these two doing here? You're not thinking of launching your own rescue mission?!"

The General's eyebrows rose quite sharply at the comment. "Well – Yes, actually." he said shortly. "Seeing as it was my call, I'm going to do all I can to rectify it."

"Out of the question!" The Colonel replied, "With all due respect, Sir, she is my Agent, and I can have Mason in the area within the..."

"No, Colonel." Harper said, his voice quite a bit more forceful than it had been so far, "Agent Mason is in far too deep to pull him out now, especially when we have other options open to us."

The Colonel barked out a laugh, although there was no humour behind it. "Other options? You mean these two?!" he looked over Alex and Conner with more than a little scepticism, "An Irish sniper and a new guy... Hell, this one doesn't even look that smart."

Alex's eyes narrowed at the man, but he bit his tongue. It probably wouldn't do to snap back, especially if he couldn't reveal his true experience in the field.

"I assure you, Colonel." the General said, with a small smile, "At present, there is no better team available to us. Agent Hunter is an excellent field agent, and O'Neil is one of our best. They only require 72 hours prep time, which you may oversee, naturally."

The Colonel leant back in his seat, a sceptical look still evident in his eyes. "Fine!" he barked after a lengthy silence, "But if I don't feel they're up to the job in that time, I go with Mason. He can blow his cover wide-open for all I care, as long as I get my Agent back."

General Harper frowned for a few seconds, before seemingly coming to a decision. "Very well."

He turned to Alex. "Agent Hunter, welcome aboard. I suggest you get some sleep; you're training starts at noon."

* * *

_Well, what did you think? This, as you may have noticed, is a totally new chapter, and already shows a divergence from the original fic. Expect this to continue from here-on-in. There may be elements of the original, but they should only be fleeting._

_So, let's explain a few of the differences._

_UNITI HQ itself hasn't actually changed much in my mind (except the hanger opening). There's now a General in charge of the base, which you wouldn't have seen last time, and something else that you should take note of is the multi-national nature of the base. It's not just Britain and the US (and Ireland), there's going to be Spanish, German, Canadian, even French (shock-horror) officers running around. You may not see them all, but just be aware that they're there. Hopefully the next chapter will explain the set-up a little better._

_Conner has changed. He's now older, and a little more mature. Sure, at 21 he's not really a 'kid', but when he was originally trained, he would have been quite young. Unfortunately, age catches up with all of us._

_There's no snow walk (in this chapter, I haven't decided about the next yet) because it annoyed me, as did the safe-house scene. I believe the way I've given you information this time is much better to keep you guessing – especially since I've changed the information. Hell, I'm guessing most the time._

_And lastly, we have Daniel's part of the chapter. In the original, he was the ever-present 'leader' of the UNITI gang, but this time he's actually going to have a storyline (a storyline that kinda petered out in the original, because it didn't flow well with the story). This gives me a lot more freedom with his character – I look forward to developing him._

_Well, tell me what you think! This isn't a chapter that was simply edited, like the others, so I'll be interested in the difference in quality between this and the last few chapters. Please do help me here..._

_Thanks for reading,_

_Chris_


End file.
